


Ugh, It’s Valentine’s Day

by cueonego



Series: Shassie Oneshots [4]
Category: Psych (TV 2006)
Genre: Blow Jobs, Drunk Sex, M/M, Semi-Public Sex, Valentine’s Day
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-02-14
Updated: 2021-02-14
Packaged: 2021-03-15 18:21:18
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,000
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29440362
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/cueonego/pseuds/cueonego
Summary: Lassiter isn’t a big fan of Valentine’s Day. That is, until he runs into a certain someone at a bar.
Relationships: Carlton Lassiter/Shawn Spencer
Series: Shassie Oneshots [4]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/2197524
Comments: 5
Kudos: 42





	Ugh, It’s Valentine’s Day

**Author's Note:**

> The idea struck down on me this morning and I think this is the fastest I’ve ever written something. Enjoy!

Lassiter doesn’t like Valentine’s Day. It’s a stupid social construct made to get you to spend money on stupid stuff like chocolates and flowers. He never understood any of that. If people can buy love and sex with chocolates and flowers, if that’s really the state of the affairs now, then he guesses prostitution has gotten a whole lot more complicated than before.

Do people really walk around and say ridiculous things like ‘be my Valentine’ to each other? And does that even work? And even so, why should it spill over to a workplace environment? If people are looking for mates at work, he doesn’t know what to say. It sucks and it never works out. It’s childish.

He sees is O’Hara leaving out a big box of chocolates in the common for everyone to have because it’s _Valentines Day_. And of course, Spencer is stuffing his face and his pockets with the silly little heart shaped chocolates that have swirls and stripes made of more, different colored chocolate.

It’s all nonsense that he doesn’t try to understand.

After work, he drops by a bar. It’s ridiculous that every single establishment is decorated with pink hearts and red kisses, throwing some special Valentines event to lure the poor customers in. He’s found one that’s the _least_ ridiculous among all of them.

He should probably explain that he’s at a gay bar. But he’s not looking for anything specifically. It would be pathetic to say that he’s here to pick up someone on Valentine’s Day. Everyone here already seems to be paired up with someone, and they’ll have a grand time and go have a sloppy fucking sex with all the alcohol they’re drinking.

But obviously, he’s not here to do any of that. He’s here to drink, he’s here to let out steam, and he’s going to go home and fall asleep until it’s no longer Valentine’s Day, and everyone wakes up to face the reality. It’s a scam.

“So, you looking for someone?” A smooth voice asks from behind.

If this guy thinks he looks like he’s looking for something, he’s mistaken. He’s clearly signaling that he doesn’t want to be bothered by all these displays of mating rituals—

“Spencer?”

“Lassie, I hope you know what kind of bar you are in right now,” Spencer says, standing next to his stool and leaning his back against the bar.

“I— yeah, I know that. I’m not stupid.”

“Okay, good. ‘Cuz explaining that to you would have been _pretty_ awkward.”

“Yeah, well. You don’t have to worry about that, Spencer,” Lassiter grumbles, and goes back to sipping his drink. He’s maybe had three or four glasses of whisky. He’s not really sure why—he was going to have a neat glass and go back home. But with Spencer standing here, he guesses he should get another glass.

“So, you with someone?”

“It’s none of your business.”

“I’m just saying, there’s a lot of predatory eyes on you right now. You’re a hot commodity, Mr. salt and pepper daddy,” Spencer says, flicking Lassiter’s hair by his ear. “If you’re looking for some peace and quiet from all these desperados, I can be your stand-in.”

“Do you even know what desperado means?” Lassiter chides as he looks around, finding Spencer’s statement ridiculous. Why would anyone be looking at him? “But whatever,” he says, indeed noticing a few stupid and drunk eyes gazing at him from several directions. One guy even raises his glass towards Lassiter with a wink. Disgusting.

“I didn’t know you liked guys, Lassie.”

“Why are you here?” Lassiter asks, deflecting the question back to Spencer. He always thought Spencer was straight as an arrow, dressing like he woke up in the crumpled and stained clothes. And the flirting. All the shameless flirting with women he came across during cases.

“I dunno, just felt like a drink,” Spencer says, tipping his stout glass that has a bright pink lipstick stain on the rim. Obviously not his.

“You don’t even like drinking—Spencer, were you following me?”

“I’m not! I’m here to drink,” Spencer argues. He motions over to the bartender and asks Lassiter what he’s drinking. He makes a quick frown at Lassiter’s response and turns to the bartender. “Do you guys have something pineapple-y?”

So, Spencer is sitting next to him with a piña colada in his hands now. It seems dangerous, letting Spencer drink, but he’s an adult (well, by technicality only), and he’s not going to stop him from making his own decisions.

“Wow, this thing actually tastes pretty good,” Spencer says, downing half of the glass quickly through the straw and eating the pineapple slice meant for decoration.

“You might wanna go slow, Spencer.” Lassiter warns. He’s not really in the mood for dragging out a drunk, or worse, passed out Spencer in his arms. Lassiter has hasn’t touched his fresh glass of whisky he ordered a long while back, when Spencer first joined him. It seemed like the right thing to do.

“Hey, don’t you worry about me. I can hold my liquor,” Spencer says, sipping the rest of the drink with speed that he employs to eat his snacks.

“I’m just saying, that’s made with Rum so it’s stronger than your garden variety beer,” Lassiter says, downing his last glass of whisky to match Spencer’s glass.

“But it’s so tasty…” Spencer trails, his voice suddenly softer and his face looking flush with his eyelids heavy.

Jesus, who knew Spencer was a lightweight.

“Did you eat anything before this?” Lassiter asks. He’s not concerned, he’s just worried that he’s going to have to deal with a very passed out Spencer.

“No.” He pauses. “I guess I had the chocolates from Jules?”

“Yeah, that’s not enough for a lightweight like you.”

“I’m not lightweight!” Spencer argues. “Have you seen me? I bet I’m heavier than you are, Lass. You’re like… a stick bug.”

“It doesn’t matter, Spencer.”

“Okay,” Spencer accepts, his voice even quieter than before and his eyes looking sleepier. Spencer puts his hand on Lassiter’s thigh, gripping onto it to push himself up. “I think I need to go pee.”

Lassiter signals to the bartender for a glass of water, looking at Spencer stumbling into the crowd towards the bathroom. He wonders if he should have followed, but he holds onto the glass of water, hoping Spencer wasn’t stupid enough to drink when he can’t even hold it in.

Thankfully, he sees the bathroom door creaking open and Spencer walking back towards him. Good, he wasn’t that big of an idiot. Lassiter pushes the glass of water towards Spencer when he arrives, and Spencer downs the entire glass in a single gulp.

When he puts the glass down, his hand automatically falls onto Lassiter’s shoulder, rubbing it slightly up and down. Spencer looks down on Lassiter with his sleepy eyes and parted lips, licking and biting on his bottom lip when he brings his hand up to cup Lassiter’s face.

“Let’s go outside, Lassie.”

 _Jesus_.

It shouldn’t be, but he finds it—he nods at his proposition. It was time to leave the bar anyways.

Lassiter walks out the bar with Spencer under his arms, holding onto him so he doesn’t fall face first into the pavement. But Spencer pulls on the back of his jacket, stopping him in the middle of the alleyway.

“Lassie, stop— stop,” Spencer says, slamming the both of them against the wall with his drunken step.

Lassiter looks at Spencer, but Spencer peels himself off from Lassiter’s arms and puts himself in front of him, trapping Lassiter against the wall.

“Hey, you want a blowjob?” he asks, pulling on Lassiter’s tie and bringing his face close.

“Spencer—“ Lassiter says, but it’s far from a protest. Lassiter lifts his head when Spencer kisses his neck, and he lets Spencer’s hand feel his chest as he does so.

“I want to suck your cock, Lassie,” he whispers into his neck. “And don’t you dare worry about it. I’m not that drunk, and I know what I’m doing. I’m just gonna suck your cock, and nothing more. Just sucking your cock until you come in my mouth, and I’ll walk away,” he babbles, moving his hands down onto his belt buckle. “I’m gonna suck it so good that you’re going to fuck my mouth until you come. How does that sound?”

Jesus, he knows he shouldn’t, but his mouth responds before he can stop it.

“ _Christ_ , okay.”

Spencer smiles, and lowers himself down to pull on Lassiter’s belt.

So, Spencer is kneeling down in front of him with his cock in his hands now. It seems dangerous, letting Spencer do this, but he’s an adult (again, by technicality only), and he’s not going to stop him from making his own decisions.

“Fuck, Lassie, you have no idea how much I wanted to do this,” Spencer says, taking his cock into his mouth and massaging his balls at the same time.

“Yeah, again, you might wanna go slow, Spencer,” Lassiter strains. He’s not really in the mood for coming so quickly, or worse, coming in his mouth right at this moment. Fuck, Lassiter grabs onto Spencer’s shoulders, brushing a loose strand of hair on his forehead back up. It seems like the right thing to do.

“Hey, don’t you worry about me. I can take all of it in,” Spencer says, pulling out before pushing his mouth down the rest of Lassiter’s length with speed that he employs to—

“Fu—fuck, I’m just saying,” Lassiter says, but he doesn’t know what he was about to say, because apparently his cock is the tastiest thing Spencer’s ever had.

When he looks down, Spencer is looking up to him, sucking his cock with his face looking flush with his eyelids heavy. The muddled moans are loud only enough for him to hear, and Christ, Spencer is palming his own cock over his jeans, getting off on the fact that he’s sucking his cock.

Jesus, who knew Spencer was so good at sucking cock.

Spencer is sloppy and wet, and Lassiter isn’t about to last long with Spencer diligently working under him, far from squeamish about the fact that he’s sucking his cock in a messy alleyway.

It’s the hottest thing he’s ever seen.

Okay, he probably shouldn’t ask if Spencer has sucked cock before. He’s not concerned, he’s just surprised that Spencer knows his way around a cock so well that he’s forgetting that he’s standing in the middle of an alleyway behind a bar.

“God,” Lassiter breathes out, his head falling back against the wall, and his voice dragging out as Spencer puts his hand on Lassiter’s thigh, gripping onto it to push himself down further. “Fuck, I’m gonna come soon if you don’t slow down.”

Spencer moves his hands up to Lassiter’s hips and pushes it towards his mouth, telling Lassiter to start fucking his mouth properly if he wants to come. Fuck, there’s no refusing that proposition.

So Lassiter takes Spencer’s head into his hands and starts moving his hips, fucking Spencer’s mouth until he comes. Jesus, he’s coming in Spencer’s mouth, keeling over and holding Spencer’s head in place. Spencer happily obliges, swallowing his load and sucking his cock clean of any evidence.

When Spencer gets up, Lassiter still hasn’t managed to tuck himself back in. So Spencer leans in, putting his soft cock into his pants and zipping him back up, cinching his belt and wrapping him ready to go.

“Okay, bye Lassie! See you tomorrow!” Spencer says, stumbling out the alleyway and leaving Lassiter leaning against the wall. He looks back and gives him a wave, tripping on a pothole and barely catching himself from falling onto the ground.

He must have seen it wrong, but he swears he saw a wet spot in the front of Spencer’s jeans. Christ, if Spencer came from sucking his cock only—

He guesses Valentine’s Day isn’t the worst thing in the world.


End file.
